For the Love of All That Is Unholy
by Akatsuki Feathers
Summary: Who are you? Who am I? /AU, Damien/Pip, oneshot\


Title: For the Love of All That Is Unholy  
Pairings: Damien/Pip  
Rating: Teen  
Description: Who are you? Who am I?  
Notes: I'm not going to tell you how it's AU.  
This was spawned by an idea I had before writing Coup de Grace and the sudden urge to write in second person. God, writing this was fun. I think I love writing in second-person.  
Enjoy.  


* * *

The only thing around you is blue. It's so very strange, this cold feeling, this high wind, this bright blue; everything about this whole situation just confuses you.

This blue. This bright and amazing blue. It twirls around you like ribbons, wrapping you like a package. They wrap in between your legs and they cuddle next to your sides. They perch on your shoulders and nuzzle against your neck like homely pigeons. It fills you completely.

And suddenly, there is this new sensation that fills your pallet.

Brown; light, dull, dusty brown. It takes over this lovely, lovely blue of yours and brings along this queer little feeling of…

**Pain.**

You scream. You scream again. Even as you continue, you can hear the echo of your first one move on in the dust. Everything is a skirl of pain and pressure and sting. It makes your already fogged mind drift further into a sense of missing.

You don't understand. You can't remember anything. You can only feel this dark, malicious pain.

Where are you? What was going on? How did you get there? Who _are_ you?

Everything is absolutely unknown to you. It's deeply frightening.

You wish to be somewhere better.

But is there a place better than here? Or was this odd place the best there was?

Everything is so confusing.

You grip the sandy, dusty earth and you expel one more scream. Your lungs are burning now and you cannot bring yourself to move.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"Oh-Oh my god! He's naked!"

Your eyes roll around in their sockets as fatigue overcomes you.

A stranger flips you onto your back (must to your great pain) and they peel back your eyelids and take a look at your bright, bright, bright blue eyes.

"He has a concussion."

"You don't think he was beaten… R-Raped… And abandoned here, do you?"

You can't bright yourself to look straight, but the people are clearly man and woman.

"He doesn't have any physical bruising, but that doesn't mean I'd rule out a beating." This was the man. He sounded very educated.

Your eyes are opened again. The woman looms over you, sun worn face covered with worry lines that didn't really pertain to you originally.

"What's your name?"

What was you name? If only you knew. If you did, you would have gladly replied to her (because you have this strange, nestled feeling of needing to help her) rather than groaning like you originally did.

This worries her and soon the man is facing you straight on as well. He seems sun worn as well.

Perhaps these people are farmers?

"Do you know your name?"

Again, you want to reply. You want to tell them what they wanted to know, but you just cannot. You have no idea. You don't want to be there. You don't want to be near those people. All you need is sleep, that's all you need. Your one hundred percent convinced of this.

You would tell the couple this as well, if it weren't for your burning throat.

The man picks you up, your back against his right arm and his left hooked under your knees.

The woman runs out of your line of view and comes back soon after with a blanket. She expertly wraps it around you despite the man's arms in the way and pats you on the head.

"Don't worry; we're going to bring you to a hospital."

It rings a bell in your fractured memory but you can't bring yourself to remember what is. You'll think of it later.

They carry you to what you can remember as an automobile and they set you in next to three children.

They all stare at you (well, the two older ones do since the third one is just a baby) and the middle child asks the woman what you are doing in their "van".

"Sorry Katie, but we need to bring him to the hospital,"

You're starting to sweat and you wish this blanket wasn't wrapped around your body. All you can do is squirm and exhale heavily.

"What's wrong with him?"

The man was the one to reply this time, "He's hurt and he's probably very flustered."

"Why does he have that blanket on then? Look, he's sweating!"

"It's fine. Just leave him alone until we get to the hospital."

You sit through this chatter, still squirming in your skin, and slowly your pint of steam wears down and you too settle into that coma like state from earlier.

You shut your eyes, the heaviness feeling good combined with your frazzled body, and you can feel the much needed yawn ache in the back of your throat. It dies as suddenly as it came when the man leans over to the back seats and pinches you on the cheek sharply.

You're somewhat awake once again.

The boy seated next to you laughs in a naive way and turns to talk to his younger sister.

The baby coos in its sleep.

You start to notice the bumpiness of the road and that brings the question of where you are.

Perhaps they'll tell you later?

* * *

You can feel needles puncture your body, poking you in the side and on the pads of your feet.

You wake up again.

The light, where ever you are, is so bright and creamy that it makes your eyes water.

Heaven?

"Boy, stay awake."

This voice is even sharper than the man from before. Not only that, but it's clearly feminine and behind it reveals tiredness and sourness.

The hands of the woman grip your cheeks and she pinches your cheeks with rounded nails.

"Wake up, kiddo," she orders, "Wake up!"

You really are awake and you're not in a divine place like you had previously thought.

There is a large group of people in colorful outfits around you and the machines near (and as you look around drowsily, connected) to your body are covered in loose plastic bags.

You're voice is still lost deep within your throat.

"Can you hear me, kid?"

You blink at her and heavily nod your head at her.

"Can you speak?"

You crack open your mouth and release a groan. You shut your mouth again and shake a 'no'.

"Do you know your name?"

Now this was just getting annoying. You can't stand this repetition of questions, even if you would never want to admit it. You wish that everyone would just understand that you couldn't remember much of anything and that you couldn't reply to them.

You shake your head and look around at the other people.

One of them is flicking a needle, checking for something that you can't remember.

The sharp woman is trying to keep your attention on her. You can't. You're too curious of the room.

Several men are debating near a machine that exhaled a beep every second and with each beep a spike extended from the straight one on the screen.

Another was probing your body, pressing his fingers against your skin with semi-pressure. Everywhere his fingers went; your body burned and ached.

You release another groan.

"He has some minor bruising, but that's all I can find."

"We should get an MRI, just to check if there's any internal bleeding."

You feel tired again. You don't want to be here, still, and you don't want these people probing your body they way they are.

The room starts spinning as they move you and the room changes over and over again.

This all makes you very dizzy and it puts that haze back into your eyes. You know that sleep will be the only thing that helps you, so why is it that these people are so bent on keeping you awake?

"Stay awake, boy!"

You're pinched on the cheek again and you groan. Awake again, you glance at the woman and bite your lip with uncertainty.

You wish you could tell her what was on your mind.

* * *

The room is quiet and you're still so tired.

The family who dropped you off is by your side. The baby is crying and he needs to be fed. The two siblings, both under the age of eight, are playing with each other over near the door. The mother is watching the clock and the father is keeping a keen eye on the siblings.

The woman picks up the baby boy and says to everyone that she'll be right back. She's probably going to get him something to eat.

You feel so uncomfortable around them. They're strangers, it's to be expected. But…

Their presence was nice. They were nice people, you suppose.

They did, after all, bring you to a hospital. (Good thing you remember what that is now!) As well, they are by your side right now, despite them not knowing a single thing about you.

This was amazingly kind of them.

It's so strange, too, since this show of care really gets to you. It makes you feel so funny and strange, like you've never really felt like this before.

You heart is beating like crazy and your hands are sweating.

You are so happy.

"Th-Th," you whisper out, "Thank you,"

The man looks at you and the children stop for a moment to look as well.

He leans over to you, "Do you know your name?"

There is that question again. You really don't like this question.

Your throat hurts again, but you're able to reply in a rasp, "No,"

"Do you remember anything?" He asks.

"… No…" Slowly, your voice comes back, fluttery and shy. This is who you are; the soft-spoken boy with blue-like-morning-sky eyes.

You are unknown and you don't know what is going on.

You are a mystery to yourself and to the people around you.

Who are you? Why are you here?

Why did you fall from the sky?

* * *

"Be nice to Katie, Jacob," you say as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

The older brother glances at you before he looks back at his younger sister. He's not sure if he should listen to you or not.

"He's right, Jacob," the father scolds.

He looks between you and his father. He huffs unhappily and helps Katie off the ground.

"Say you're sorry," the father commands.

"… Sorry," he glances off to the side.

"Good boy,"

You rub your eyes and lower yourself down into your pillows again. You cradle your neck in the fluff and close your eyes.

"Do you remember anything today?" Katie asks as she steps up to your side.

You're already half-way to sleep when she asks, but you must answer, it's only proper etiquette. "No. I'm sorry,"

"Oh, okay."

They really are a cute family, you think as you fade into slumber.

* * *

"Do you mind if we call you John Doe until we find out your real name?" The doctor asks you.

You honestly like being given a name, even if it isn't really yours. Well, perhaps it was, but there was a very low chance of that.

"That's fine with me," you tell her with a smile.

"Great! Now, there therapist will be in soon and he'll try to help you remember some things."

"Right-o,"

She smiles sharply and steps out of the room with that strange swagger of hers.

The man comes in soon after her, dressed in a suit with a light blue shirt that relaxes every inch of your body. He takes a seat next to you and pulls his suitcase up onto his lap.

"What are we doing today?" You ask as you watch him unlatch the case.

He pulls out a large wad of paper and places it on the table. "We'll be doing picture association again."

"Jolly good!" You can't help but to smile at the man's sense of helpfulness. He is a very nice man.

You're glad that you are doing the picture on. The other memory jogging techniques are tiring and they leave you even more frazzled than before.

The man pulls out a card and presents it to you. "Do you have any pets?" He asks.

You look at the picture of a dog and you don't feel anything, "No," you reply.

"Alright," he pulls back the card and replaces it with another, "Do you live in Colorado?" The card shows the outline of the state of Colorado.

You can't help but pause for much longer than needed and just stare at the piece of paper with large eyes. This brings something to your mind. A memory, it has to be a memory.

"… Yes." You reply and you can already feel some pressure disappear.

"Great!" He smiles and pats you on the shoulder. He takes the card and gives you another one. This is a photo.

"It doesn't look familiar…" It didn't. The scenery in the photo didn't ring a bell.

"That's alright," he pats the card back into the pile and pauses for a moment. He laughs and quickly cards through the pile. "Oh, gosh, how could I have forgotten that?" He jokes with sour irony.

You really don't like the sound of that, but you humor him anyway. He is a professional after all.

He presents to you the card he was searching for.

You look at it and feel something—_something, _squirm in your stomach.

It's a very simple picture. Just a basic outline like most of the other flash cards. It's a woman and a man, next to each other as if they were a couple. The caption under the picture says 'Parents'.

Parents?

Well, yes, everyone has parents…

… Do you have parents?

You get the sensation that you don't.

… But everyone has parents….

You lick your lips, dry and cracking. You throat is thick, "… No,"

The man takes back the card and nods. "Alright,"

You yawn.

He turns another card towards you, "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes,"

"Older or younger?"

You can remember this. Your older sister… Her name is… Something with a 'P', you can feel it at the tip of your tongue. You almost have it.

"Older… Penny," you tell him, bright blue eyes held back wide.

"Good, very good!" He's almost shaking with excitement.

You're tired. You just want to stop and rest your head for a moment.

He wants to continue though, so you must.

"Do you know your last name?"

"No…"

"That's okay," he tells you with another pat on your shoulder. "We'll end our section for today. You should take a rest."

You look at him clean up and take a stand. "I'm sorry I wasn't helpful," you tell him with a low tone.

"Don't say that," he turns to smile at you, "You were very helpful today."

"Cheerio,"

He laughs to himself, "See you tomorrow,"

* * *

"He seems to be fine now and can, in fact, be discharged." She tells them, clipboard held close to her thighs.

"But where will he go? We still can't find any family members and to put him in an orphanage would make it seem like he's eligible for adoption." The therapist says back to her.

"Yes, but we can't just leave him in here, either."

The father from before interrupts by this point with a light cough, "Perhaps he could stay with us for the time being. And while he's in our care, we could ask the media to do a story about him. In order to inform the family that we have him and that he's safe."

"That is a good idea, but we've searched all of the missing children reports in Colorado and there are no signs that the family filed one."

"You must remember as well," the therapist interjects, "He says that he doesn't have any parents. Maybe he's right and he truly is under the care of his older sister, Penny. You know how young guardians are. If something bad happens; asking for help is the last thing they do. They believe that taking care of their younger sibling is their single sign of maturity (it is) and if something happens, they don't want that title taken away. So they'll search for the child alone, without informing the police about it." He theorized.

You feel uncomfortable, listening to this and pretending to sleep; their quiet voices drifting through your room and into your perked ear.

This is guilt; eavesdropping is wrong. You need to stop.

"That's correct."

"How does your wife feel about this?"

He laughs, "She was the one who suggested it."

The other two laugh quietly as well.

"I see. Once he wakes up, we'll tell him."

"Yes,"

* * *

You wonder what day it is; what month this is; what year this is.

It's hot out and the sky is a creamy blue. The ground is dusty and dry. Cracking.

Your lips hurt and your head hurts and everything is just as right as it should but so wrong as well. Your mind is spinning as you look at the blue van and at the little faces peering out from behind the tinted windows. You glance at the mother and father—Mr. and Mrs. Harlot—and wait for the sign to officially join the family.

The door slides open and you slowly step inside. You take a seat next to Jacob and you pull the door close. You watch as the adults take their seats and look back at you with bright smiles.

"Welcome to the family, John,"

The temporary name was strange to hear, but you're not sure if it's really that strange. You still can't remember much and you still don't know if John was indeed your name or not. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it isn't.

Who is this woman you identified as your sister? Who is Penny? What does she look like?

Blonde.

You remember it. The splayed effects of blonde hair in mid movement. A tussle perhaps? Or something more merry?

You can't tell, honestly.

The van bumps against the road.

You look at the siblings; Jake is poking Katie. Freddy is playing with his bottle. Katie is trying to play with her Barbie.

Warmth spreads through your stomach as you watch them happily.

Families always make you happy.

* * *

"Where are we?" You ask as you step out of the van. Good thing the Harlot family was nice enough to purchase you a new pair of cloths. Walking around in just a hospital gown would have been just awkward.

"We're in North Park,"

You stop and stare at them, "E-Excuse me?"

"North Park—do you remember something?" Mrs. Harlot asks as she steps up to you.

"I'm… I'm not sure." You wrack your brain, trying your best to strengthen this feeling you have right now. It strikes you like lightning, there is something familiar about it, and you almost fall to your knees.

Pain and happiness and peace and hectic overpower everything. Are these memories? Are these memories?

Memories?

You understand what this is. This is a resurface of memories, of memories from where you once lived.

Snow, it snowed almost all year, and smallness. This place was small, like your typical village. Perhaps one hundred or less people.

Park County.

Somewhere in Park County.

You live somewhere in Park County.

"I live here." Your eyes are held open wide.

"Where do you live?" Mr. Harlot steps up to you and bends his knees so that you're both eye level.

"Park County," you feel like your whispering.

He stands up and looks at his wife. "That's very helpful."

You smile weakly and Katie grabs your hand. She tugs you towards the front door, smiling brightly, and says something about playing with her.

You're not sure why, but you're thoughts are still glued onto the memory of Park County. Where in Park County do you live? Where, where, where?

North Park? East Park? West Park? South Park?

South Park?

… South… Park…

The name tastes like hard candy on the back of your tongue.

She pulls you up a flight of stairs and straight into her frill-filled room. In the center sits her dollhouse and her dolls.

It's a nice room, you admire as you sit down next to her.

And once again, you take note on how sweet this family is towards you and how this is just so strange.

What kind of life did you lead before you lost your memories?

* * *

"Would you like to go grocery shopping with me today?" Mrs. Harlot asks as she pulls on her coat.

You look at her and nod curtly, "That would be wonderful," you say with a grin.

She smiles back, eyes disappearing in the creases, and motions for you to follow her.

Both of you walk to the car and buckle yourselves in.

"Did anything else come to mind last night?" She asks as she pulls the van out of the driveway.

You can't hold it in anymore, "I think I may have lived in South Park."

"Why do you think that?"

"I'm not sure. It just sounds right,"

"Oh, I see," her voice is always so jolly; as if she was made of sugar.

It's nice to hear someone so enthusiastic. It makes your heart swell.

"What do you need to get?" You inquire, feeling the need to spark conversation.

"Well, I need to get milk and eggs. Grapes, ham, and some snacks. Would you like something?"

You look at her with wide eyes, "Oh no, no, I'm fine. Thank you for asking." There you go again, presenting that smile like you always do. Why do you smile so much anyway?

And why does it feel so natural?

Actually, now that you think about it, a nice cup of Earl Grey would do you some good…

You keep your mouth shut anyway and turn towards the window.

The car slows at a red light.

Your heart stops dead in your chest.

Who is that?

The teen, male and muscular, gives you a sharp look. His eyes are dark, dark, dark brown—black, maybe—and are held open wide. His eyebrows are plucked to a pointed look. A ring hangs from his nostrils, appearing heavy and sparkling, bright silver and painful. There are more of them on him, and you can't imagine how many others the boy might have. There are two of them on his right eyebrow and too many to count riddled up and down his ears. His hair is long (sort of like yours) and it's obvious that it was cut in the odd angles on purpose. It a dark color like his eyes. It's tucked behind his ears.

It's disgusting you to even look at it.

The boy's lips curl back; he bares his teeth at you in a smile that sends chills through your body and makes your heart race. He moves his tongue around in a seductive manner and you are forced to look away by that point. You can't help but think of the shimmer that bounced off his tongue. He must have had a tongue ring as well.

"What's wrong, John?" Mrs. Harlot asks you. She glances past you and her eyes lower into a glare. It's the first time you've ever seen her do something like that.

The light changes (it seems like it took forever, you think) and Mrs. Harlot seems to make a point as to not linger by the way she starts up again right away.

"Who was that?" You ask her; curiosity too peaked by this point.

"I don't know who he is. But I do know that he's a bad influence, John, and you shouldn't play with him."

You look at her and nod, "I understand."

"Good boy," she is smiling again and she is still smiling as you both enter the store parking lot.

* * *

The doorbell is ringing as you step out of the shower. You pay no mind to it, as you're both uncomfortable with answering anything for the Harlots as well your lewd clothing position.

You sneak off to Jacob's room to change, making sure he's not in there, with only a towel wrapped around your thin waist.

You change as quickly as you can because you know that Jacob doesn't like to wait and once you're finished you step downstairs to see who it was at the door.

You nearly fall down the last three steps when you see who's at the door.

The guy from earlier.

Your heart is attacking your ribcage and your hands are starting to sweat.

He gives you that look, eyes like knives, and raises a brow in question. "So, you're alive."

Mrs. Harlot, bothered and unpleased by his appearance, looks at him with the same eyes you too are presenting.

"You—you know me?" The saliva in you mouth turns to syrup.

"Well yeah," he laughs, bright teeth presented once again, "we _are_ dating."

Blood rushes to you head and you can feel the pressure become too much. Everything falls black.

How is that possible?

* * *

"Are you okay?"

The boy is leaning over you, that sharp look in his eyes no longer there, and he puckers his lips with what you're guessing is concern. His hand is on the side of your face and his thumb is stroking your cheek.

Your body feels warm as the heat spreads from his fingertips and into your face. Your heart is heavy, it sags in your chest, and you start to think that maybe what he says is true.

"I'm jolly good," you pull yourself onto your feet and grin nervously, "Um," you rub the back of you neck, "Who are you?"

The children peer from atop the stairs, curious as to whom this teenager is.

Mrs. Harlot is standing behind him, arms crossed over her chest and her eyes displaying her deep displeasure for the dark boy.

"My name is Damien Thorn," he shows you a crooked smile, "Can't you remember?"

You shake your head. You feel so comfortable near him (despite your distaste for the decorations) and it amazes you how familiar he is. You certainly hadn't felt that way when you saw him from the car.

"You're killing me Pip," he places his hands over his heart.

You heart stops again. Pip.

Pip.

Pip Pirrip.

**You're Pip Pirrip.**

"I'm Pip Pirrip!" Your mouth is held open as you stare at him with your blue eyes.

He rolls his eyes and taps your head, "Obviously."

Mrs. Harlot uncrosses her arms slowly, seeming unsure, and places a hand on Damien's shoulder.

He snaps his head towards her, hair swishing slightly as he does so.

"Get out of my house." She orders.

He pulls her hand off of his shoulder and looks back at you. His eyes are still lingering with the glare that he had given her. "Looks like I have to go," he says as he closes in.

And the blood rushes to you head again and you slip into that semi-state of consciousness as he places his lips on yours. The bullring hanging from his nose presses just above your lip.

This is so strange and so warm and so exciting.

You're convinced. This is much more than a normal kiss, it must be, so Damien must be much more than just a stranger to you.

Your heart is soaring.

"Get out!" Mrs. Harlot screams, face red.

The children at the top of the stairs are giggling to each other.

You can't move.

He pulls away, smiling brightly, and strokes you on the head. "Bye Pip,"

"Ch-Ch-Cheerio,"

He swaggers towards the door, chains tinkling, and salutes everyone a good-bye.

The door slams shut and your ears are ringing.

Mrs. Harlot looks at you with wide eyes.

"I think I know him," you tell her.

* * *

Your heart is beating heavily as you look at the camera. The lights all around you are hot and you can feel yourself start to sweat already.

"It is okay, Pip, you'll be fine." The newscaster tells you.

You look at her and smile weakly, "Right-o,"

"Good," she's powdering her nose with something and it makes your nose itch.

Sitting there, you feel your stomach clench further. You can't believe you're doing this.

"We're live in five, four, three…" The camera man fingered down two and one before he mouthed "we're on,"

The newscaster sits up straight, make-up placed on the floor, and smiles sadly, "Good evening. Today's story is one of sadness,"

You can't look away from the camera. It's like a monstrous predator and you were prey, just sitting there in fear.

The camera does scare you a little.

"This boy has been separated from his family and is suffering from terrible amnesia. Doctors and the police have yet to figure out what may have happened to this young man, but we do know that he was found on the side of the road on Route 54." She turns to you, smiling still.

"Why don't you tell us what you know about yourself?" She offers.

You feel your heart lodge into your throat. You can't do this. "Yes, well, m-my name is Pip Pirrip, I think," you lower your eyes to the table, "I believe that I have an older sister named Penny as well… And… And I think I live in South Park."

Why has this all suddenly become so unsure to you?

It's because you don't want to be wrong in front of the camera, isn't it?

Or is it because you're starting to think that these memories were simply made up because you so desperately wanted to answer everyone's questions?

She places a hand on your shoulder, "If anyone knows who this young man is, please contact your local police department."

You're heart is still beating heavily and your face is red even as the camera is shut off.

* * *

You curl up on the couch and get ready to sleep when there is a knock at the door. You sit up and look at the door with surprise.

Who could be at the door at ten at night?

You go to answer the door.

"Hey Pip,"

Your heart is flying again.

Damien pulls you outside and closes the door soundly behind you. He presses you against the door and kisses you.

Your wits are startled as he grasps your hips as well. You mind isn't working.

He pulls away and plants one last kiss on your cheek.

"D-Damien!"

"I saw you on TV. You're so adorable."

You're burning up again and your legs are weak and you just feel wonderful. "Thank you," you reply shyly.

His hands are on your face now, fingers running through your hair, and his lips are on you neck. "Do you want to go out?" He words out onto your skin.

"Ah," you bite your lip and stretch your head back. Your toes curl. "Ah!"

Damien's hands link behind your neck and he continues to kiss you neck.

You place your hands on his chest and you push away gently, "Damien,"

He's still attached.

"Damien,"

He continues.

You give a good shove and you look at him with large eyes, "Please, stop!"

"Why?"

You know why, oh so well. "Even though this doesn't feel wrong, you're still a stranger to me, Damien. I can't remember anything about you."

"Oh, I forgot about that." He looks at your solemnly, "I'm sorry Pip,"

"It's okay," you kiss him on the cheek.

"So, do you want to go out?" He asks again.

You shake your head, "I can't,"

"Why not?"

"It would be rude to the Harlots if I just left in the middle of the night,"

"So? They're not your real family and anyway, we'll have fun, I promise."

You watch him carefully, "Will you help me remember what I don't remember?"

He pauses before he smiles and nods, "Sure thing, babe."

You feel so guilty for doing this, to be walking towards Damien's car and getting in, but you're starting to feel desperate. All you want now is to know what you're missing, to find out what your life is like.

Once you regain your memory, you'll be able to start your life back up again, and not be such a burden on the Harlots.

* * *

"You're originally from England,"

"Really?" You ask with a bright face. It feels _right._

"Yup, you moved to America when you were a kid for an exchange program. I guess you ended up staying here." Damien says as he runs a hand through your hair.

It's very relaxing.

You both sit in a booth in a club that you probably shouldn't even get near, let alone _be_ in. Damien was very persuasive and had convinced you it was okay.

"What about my family? Is my sister still back in England? Who do I live with now?"

He laughs to himself, "You're very curious, aren't you?"

"Of course," you smile warmly.

He strokes your hair still as he lean against him. "Okay. Let's see, you didn't really tell me much about your sister, but I do know that she's back in England. Your parents died when you were a little kid, before you came to America," he pauses to look at you.

You don't move to show any problems with that. You don't even stop smiling. You can barely remember them, both from the amnesia and the lack of time spent with them.

He doesn't speak anymore, face held in a hard look.

"Damien?" You ask, shifting so that you're sitting up again. You turn around and look at him.

"Pip, I can't continue to lie to you,"

Your heart sinks. What does he mean by that?

"Wha-What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've been telling you some things that aren't true."

"Like what?" You grip his shirt and stare into his dark, dark eyes. Your muscles are tight and your breath is held.

"We're not dating. And—" He cuts himself off with uncertainty.

"And what, Damien?" You're starting to ache now.

"And I'm the one who killed you."

You stare.

* * *

"I think we've gotten ourselves into something serious," Mr. Harlot says that night to his wife.

She looks at him, "What do you mean by that?"

"I went to the South Library, just to see if I could find out anything about Pip there."

"What did you find?"

"It seems that Phillip "Pip" Pirrip was an exchange student from England. He died in firework accident at a birthday party. He was eight."

She stares at him with shock. "What?"

* * *

"Pip?"

You can't feel anything.

"Pip?"

You can remember now. You can remember everything now: Cartman's birthday, Damien, the fire and demons, dying, and Heaven; everything.

You remember the accident. You remember playing with friends (you finally made friends) and all of a sudden you're falling, falling, falling. You've yet to get to the status for wings and you're falling. The transition from holy time to earthly time takes away your memory.

**You can remember everything.**

Damien, son of the Devil; the enemy towards God.

You're numb but yet your heart is racing.

"Pip?" He asks, staring at you.

You can see the fire in his eyes.

How come you had never seen that before?

"You monster!" You yell, jumping to you feet on the seat.

He looks up at you and stands as well. "Pip," his eyes are glowing hotter. "I love you Pip, don't act like this."

"No! Child of Satan! Leave me alone!" You can feel your voice rise even higher under the loud music of the club. You turn to go to the door but he grabs your hips and forces you to stay.

"Stay," he urges, eyes formed in that sharp look again.

"_No!_" You cry and grab onto his hands. You try to pull him off of you, but his grip is steel strong.

He pulls you into a backwards hug.

You struggle.

Damien kisses you neck and whispers to you "Stop it Pip,"

"Let me go. I'll call rape if I have to," you threaten.

"Oh really?" He smiles against your neck.

"Help!" You scream, "Rape! Rape!" You're screaming even harder, throat burning and your hands are trying desperately to pull his hands off of your hips.

"Hey—! _Hey_, stop!" His hand slides off your hip and over your mouth. Quickly, before you can move, his other hand wraps around your waist in order to keep you still.

Perhaps it's because of the loud music or the fact that everyone always seems to hate you, but no one seems to come and to help you, even as Damien drags you out of the club and into his car.

He puts you gently in the back seat and enters the car quickly.

You reach for the opposite door quickly, trying your best to get away from the demonic teenager.

He grips onto your shoulders and pulls you up and towards him.

Your faces are so close and his breath is so hot against your face. And before you know it, that feeling in your stomach is back. You're confused and tired. What should you care about? Should you be glad with this estranged sign of affection or should you take into consideration that this boy had _killed_ you?

He kisses you.

You can feel the stud of his tongue piercing slid across your lower lip. "I love you Pip,"

And suddenly, you think of something that doesn't seem to make sense. You throw your head back, so that your mouth is free, and you ask him, "How?"

He looks at you strangely, "What do you mean by that?"

"How can you love me if I've been in Heaven all this time?"

His hand grips the back of your head and your pulled up straight again. He's smiling at you with those pointed teeth of his. "I've loved you ever since we were children." He kisses you on the cheek and slides down onto your neck. His hands wander up your shirt.

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. "Then why did you kill me?" You groan out as quickly as you can.

He stops, hands lingering on you chest, and he slowly pulls himself away from you.

You slide to the opposite side of the car and look at him. You won't escape just yet, you want to hear his answer first.

"Pip…"

"Please, tell me why,"

He's silent, "I was stupid and all I wanted was to be popular, Pip,"

"So you wanted to be popular more than you wanted to be with me?"

"I was eight, Pip! I can barely understand love now, let alone understand it back then!" He shouts.

You continue to stare it him. You feel very stupid as you decide that what Damien says is true. Your stomach squirms, innards scuttling around like mice. You hate this feeling; this—this feeling that betrays everything that you believe in.

You lower your eyes to the seat, "That is true," you say as you slid up to him. You hug him loosely, nose buried into his hair, and you can feel your body slowly relax.

"I love you," he tells you as he pets your head.

He's said this so many times, it's starting to really grow on you. You're heart is settling down, that's for sure, and relaxation is coming even closer to you. It's been a while since you've relaxed like this. It amazes you, once you really think about it.

"I love you too,"

Is this really true? Or is it simply just a need for someone to love?

You hope it's true.

You stiffen. "What time is it?"

Damien pushes you away from him gently and pulls back his sleeve to look at his watch, "It's one,"

"I-I should get home!"

"Why? You know who you are now. Come live with me, Pip." He says gruffly.

"I cannot just leave them! That would be rude." You tell him as you press your forehead against his.

"Fine then, tell them that you've regained your memory in the morning,"

You smile and look at his burning eyes, "That would be nice,"

"Yeah, yeah," he climbs into the front seat and starts the car, "Buckle up,"

"Right-o,"

* * *

You try to open the door quietly, but it seems that everything in the spectrum of sound has something against you tonight.

The door creaks open so loudly it's like a group of dolphins communicating with one another.

You cringe as it squeaks, echoing through the house, and slowly step in. You can feel the essence of Damien standing on the sidewalk behind you; arms ducked behind his back and piercing glittering in the moonlight.

You really need to mention your distaste for those once you move out. It's really starting to bug you.

You turn before you enter the house and smile at him.

He waves before he steps back into his car and pulls away.

As you expel air in order to calm yourself, you turn to enter the house. You have a bad feeling about this.

True to your intuition, the minute you step into the house the lights flicker on and a sleep dressed Mr. and Mrs. Harlot are waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. You never did like surprises.

"Where were you, Pip?"

You chew a worry sore into the side of your lip and stare at them with large doe eyes. You can't bring yourself to lie. "I was out with Damien."

Mr. Harlot looks at you with upraised eyebrows, not knowing who you're speaking of.

You can't bring your eyes to look at Mrs. Harlot.

"Didn't I warn you about that boy, Pip?" She asks with an uprising mother-tone.

You look at the floor. Shame sinks deep into your bones. But really, should you have really listened to her? Perhaps listening like usual would have a bad thing. After all, if you had stayed here, you would have never remembered the missing parts of your memories. You may have decided to date Damien either way, so that would count as a reason. But, as well, if you hadn't you would have been dating for the wrong reasons.

Doing something wrong had actually paid off.

Of course, you would never, ever mention this to them. Instead, you just lower your head and whisper out, "I'm sorry." You'll tell them about it in the morning.

"Just be sure not to do it again," she warns, eyes centered on you like daggers against your throat.

"May I go to bed?" You ask, trying to keep yourself in the submissive position a little longer. Leaning forward in such a way was not smart when you're emotionally and physically drained.

"Sure thing, honey."

You crawl to the couch and tuck yourself in. The moment your head hits the pillow, you fall asleep instantly.

"We need to have a talk in the morning,"

… Mr. Harlot?

* * *

Little tiny fingers are poking your face. It makes your forehead crinkle.

"E-Excuse me?" You ask, opening your eyes into sleepy slivers and rolling them towards the little figure.

Katie smiles, "Time to wake up, brother," she says.

"What time is it?" You ask, opening your eyes fully.

"Mom!" She screams.

Your ears are ringing and you're awake at last.

"What time is it?" She asks.

Mrs. Harlot steps into the room, bright and smiling like usual, "Seven in the morning."

"It's seven in the morning, brother,"

You wish she wouldn't call you that. It's breaking your heart to hear it. It'll be just the harder when you tell them that you remember everything and that you'll be moving soon.

You get up and you go to the bathroom in order to clean up. Brush you hair, comb in so that it's all neat and tidy, wash your face, apply the usual acne cream to prevent break-outs, fix your hair again, apply some deodorant, and brush your teeth.

"Hurry, Pip, or you're breakfast will go cold!" Mrs. Harlot yells.

You step out into the room and adjust your shirt. You hope it's not too dirty.

The air becomes thick as you sit down at the table and look down at your smiling eggs and bacon.

How does Mrs. Harlot ever get up at such an ungodly hour to make such a large breakfast?

"I—"

"We need to talk, Pip,"

You look up at them and wait for him to continue.

"I read something interesting the other day."

You nod, "Really?"

"Yes. I went to look at some old newspapers and I read about the death of a boy."

Your body goes tense. Dear Lord in the Heavens above, they've figured it out. You're shaking a little and you really wish that the kids weren't at the table at the moment. "R-R-Really?"

"Yes. A boy named Philip Pirrip. Apparently he was hurt badly in a mishap with the fireworks at a birthday party and died."

You knead your feet into the floor, hands gripped on the table with worry, and your mouth is dry. "Is that right?"

"Yes. It's strange though, since this was eight years ago."

"I—" Before you know it, you're at your feet and spinning towards the door. You need to get out. They know and you need to get out.

They can never find out about what you are.

You run.

The door flies open (no longer does it have that squeak) and you're surprised to see Damien sitting in front of the house.

The door of his running car is open for you.

You jump into the back seat and close the door quickly. Your heart is racing like a horse and you force yourself to look at the house.

The whole family is at the door, looking at you with a variety of looks.

Sadness, shock, anger, and everything in between.

The car starts with a lurch and finally you're out of their heartbreaking gaze.

You feel like your heart is breaking. You lean back against the seat and close your eyes, sighing heavily.

He drives for quite a while. Just driving and driving. He doesn't even seem to turn.

The car is slowing down. You can tell by the lack of bumps.

You're so close to sleep now.

A small kiss is pressed on your cheek. "Pip?"

You're already fast asleep. Well, at least you're smiling.

* * *

Notes: -rubs head- I'm growing tired of developing relationships. As much as I despise sudden relationships, I'm just not in the mood to try and make this somewhat slow going. -yawns- Can't you tell that I was extremely sleepy while writing this whole thing?


End file.
